Les (Naked) Misérables (No Pants for France)
by yallaintright
Summary: From the treaty of treason, in penance for World War II, each country shall offer up a tribute. These tributes shall be delivered to the custody of the European Union and then transferred to a public arena when they will fight to the death until a lone victor remains. Henceforth and forevermore this pageant shall be known as The Eurovision Song Contest. Les Amis do Eurovision. E/R
1. Chapter 1

"But why do I have to make out with _him_?" Grantaire whines and Éponine has to resist the urge to kick him.

"Is the idea of kissing me so appalling to you?" Enjolras asks, looking outraged and Éponine takes a very deep breath. It's like working with children on a perpetual sugar-high. Oversexed, obnoxious, overbearing children on a perpetual sugar high. What the _hell_ was she thinking when she said yes to choreographing France's performance for this year's Eurovision show?

"Maybe he thinks you have cooties." Joly supplies helpfully, but then blanches. "Oh my god, Enjolras, do you _have_ cooties?"

"What?" Enjolras asks. "I do not have cooties, oh my god."

"And that can't be it." Bahorel comments. "You two already spend an inordinate amount of time sucking face with each other."

Grantaire yelps. "No, we don't."

Combeferre, the sole voice of reason of the group calmly says, "Yes, you do. Except, of course, when you spend an inordinate amount of time sucking each other's cocks." He frowns. "I suppose it's very hard to suck someone's face if you've got their cock halfway down your throat."

"For fuck's sake, name the last time that happened." Grantaire is trying very hard to look annoyed and stand his ground, but clearly everyone knows he's fighting a losing battle as they all pause to stare at him.

Finally, Enjolras breaks the silence. "This morning?" He deadpans.

"Et tu, Brute?" Grantaire murmurs and Jehan pats his arm, as if Grantaire were a wounded animal.

"It's true," Bossuet confirms. "I walked into your dressing room to get more body paint and now I have the completely useless knowledge that you really like it when Enjolras does that thing with his tongue - "

"Oh God." Grantaire shrieks.

Enjolras narrows his eyes. "Why did you need more body paint?"

Éponine glares at Courfeyrac before answering Enjolras' question. "Courfeyrac wanted to see if the paint was edible so he decided to lick everyone."

Enjolras' eyebrows go up at this. "He couldn't figure out the paint wasn't edible after the first person?"

Courfeyrac shrugs. "How else was I going to be sure they were using the same paint for everyone, though? Equality, man! Non-edible body paint for everyone!"

"Oh God" Éponine hides her face in her hands. _Why, why did she agree to this_?

"Fine," Grantaire concedes. "So I sometimes like to stick my tongue down Enjolras' throat - "

"All the time." Enjolras corrects gleefully.

"- why does that mean I have to make out with him on top of the stage?" Grantaire finishes, ignoring the interruption.

"For votes!" Enjolras roars.

"No." Grantaire says.

"Yes." Enjolras answers at once.

"No."

"Yes."

"We're going to lose anyway, Apollo, so pick another tactic."

Enjolras gives him a wicked smile before getting all up on Grantaire's personal space and slipping his hands into the brunette's back pockets. "Because, darling," he purrs into Grantaire's ear, "You enjoy having sex with me."

"That's blackmail." Grantaire says.

"Your point being?"

"It's very good blackmail." And the sound he makes as Enjolras leans down to bite his earlobe is something that Éponine most definitely did not need to hear.

"Wait, no, Enjolras - I still think this is a bad idea. I'd like to make it very clear that I think this is a bad idea. Remind me again why you think this is a good idea." And for the love of God, can Grantaire just not argue about everything for five fucking minutes?

"Because homoeroticism is what Eurovision is all about." Enjolras says.

"And glitter." Courfeyrac adds.

"And russian grandmothers." Combeferre says.

"And gay vampires performing dubstep opera". Jehan adds dreamily.

"And watching the UK crash and burn." Marius points out.

"And having a perfectly reasonable excuse to declare war on your neighbouring countries." Bahorel points out.

"Quite." Enjolras agrees. "We've don't have vampires or godmothers, all we have is glitter. We need homoeroticism! For France, Grantaire! We need to win! For honour and country!"

"And also to make fun of everyone else in Europe!" Courfeyrac says.

"You've already made me agree to perform wearing nothing but my underwear, isn't that enough?"

"No." Éponine says. "That is important, yes, because if there's one thing Europe loves more than hot guys in suits is hot guys out of the suits, but we need to go the extra step."

"I still think this is an awful idea." Grantaire points out.

"No pants for France!" Enjolras roars. "This is not negotiable. And if you ever want to have sex with me again, you're making out with me on stage."

"I still think our act lacks something. Subtlety, for starters. Self-respect, as well. Basic human dignity."

Enjolras snorts. "Where have you been for the past fifty years? Subtlety, self-respect and basic human dignity will win you no points at all. Subtlety, self-respect and basic human dignity is not the European way." He pauses and adds dramatically. "This is the night Europe goes to war, Grantaire, and wars are meant to be won."

"I can get behind begging for votes while on our underwear, but do we really have to threaten to put our clothes back on if they don't vote for us?" Grantaire wails.

"It is better to be loved than feared," Enjolras declares gravely. "But if they will not love you, then fear will do."

And this right here is exactly why Éponine likes Enjolras. He's the only person in the team with a decent streak of competitivity, bless his soul.

"You haven't had your afternoon chocolate milk, have you?" Grantaire asks, nodding to himself. "You know you're always grumpy when you forget, Enjolras."

"Shut up." Enjolras says.

Éponine clears her throat because they really don't have time for this. "Is everyone ready? Only two acts to go and you all still have to put on your tricolor clown wigs."


	2. Chapter 2

The time has come for Grantaire to make a complete fool of himself in front of the entire european continent and he has no intention of being sober for any of it.

"Maybe you could - " Enjolras starts to say, glaring at Grantaire's bottle of Tequila, but Grantaire covers the blonde's mouth with his hand.

"Shut up," he says pleasantly, taking a sip of the bottle in his other hand.

"You're completely impossible." Enjolras snaps in frustration, pushing his hand away. "But I don't have time to deal with you right now. We go on in five."

Grantaire sighs. He really wishes he could say he has no idea why he's doing this but he knows _exactly_ why he's about to throw every shred of self-respect he still had out the window.

He's doing it for France.

And by France he means Enjolras.

And by Enjolras he means Enjolras' ass.

He tries to run a hand through his hair, before remembering that there is a tricolor clown wig on top of his head. He is going to _kill_ Enjolras. And also Marius, who is nowhere to be found.

_Wait, no_ - there he is, fifteen minutes late with Starbucks and his wig half-off. Enjolras is going to kill Marius and Grantaire will get to watch and then he will get to kill Enjolras. It shall be the perfect day, except that there will be no blowjobs at the end of it. Maybe he _shouldn't_ kill Enjolras after all.

"Where the hell have you been?" Enjolras outright growls at Marius and Grantaire _really_ shouldn't find it as attractive as he does.

"I - pretty girl! I got distracted - Stop judging me!" Marius says defensively, before frowning. "But you know, maybe making a complete fool of ourselves on national TV isn't the best idea we've ever had? I mean, I'm game with the boxers and the paint, but are the wigs really - "

"Oh my god, she's hot isn't she?" Courfeyrac asks, with barely suppressed glee.

"Shut up, all of you," Enjolras snaps. "We don't have time for this bullshit. Marius, no one cares about your lonely soul. France before pants, man!"

"You know," Combeferre says slowly. "That would be more effective if you didn't have us regularly take five so you can make out with your boyfriend."

Enjolras shrugs. "He's been looking very patriotic lately! What with the wig and the - " He throws his hands into the air. "It's _extremely_ distracting."

"Oh god," Courfeyrac says, before dissolving in a fit of giggles.

"I still think - "

"Shut up, Grantaire." Éponine and Enjolras say at the same time.

"But - "

"Shut up," Feuilly and Bahorel speak up this time.

"Whatever happened to freedom of speech?" Grantaire whines.

"It's having kinky sex with your self-respect and therefore cannot be found tonight. Now come on, it's our turn," Courfeyrac says, pushing him gently towards the stage.

Grantaire spares a moment to ponder how this became his life and promptly gives up as he realizes he is about to get on top of a stage with a group of guys wearing nothing but tight white boxers and tricolor clown wigs while their entire upper body is covered in three long vertical lines of color - blue, white and red.

Damn Enjolras and his supernatural ass.

From the top of the stage, a loud booming voice announces, "And now, from France, we have the hit song "No Pants for France" performed by Les Naked Misérables." And that's it then, Grantaire officially hates every single person on the completely idiotic continent.

Enjolras very firmly drags him up the stage and Grantaire resignedly takes his place, as the music starts and Enjolras takes center stage, opening his mouth to sing, "Do you see the hot guys sing? Singing a song of naked men? It is the music of a people who will not be dressed again!" Grantaire thinks this is a mess and there are about a million other things he'd rather be doing with his time but even he must admit that Enjolras' voice is captivating and there isn't one person in the audience who can look away from him and _hey_, maybe they actually do have a chance of winning this after all.

Enjolras walks around the stage, rotating his hips along to the music, taking full advantage of the fact that every eye in the audience is on him. He keeps on singing. "When the beating of your heart echoes the shaking of our bums, there are pants about to start, unless your phone call comes!"

Grantaire mentally cringes at the lyrics and then _physically_ cringes because self-respect has _clearly_ not been invited to Europe's party tonight, given that a barricade of clothes starts arising from the floor. They all take their place on the rising barricade and Combeferre sings, "Will you join in our crusade? Who will be cool and vote for me? Beyond the barricade, is there an ass you long to see?"

_Oh god, this is bad. This is so, so bad_. Especially because they have now gotten to Courfeyrac's solo and _holy fuck_, he was just made for this, to have an audience's undivided attention set on him, and there's just no other way to go now, is there? He'll become addicted to it and they'll have to get him a reality show or find him a Kardashian for him to marry and Grantaire really did not want to be friends with someone who is married to a Kardashian. "Then help us in our plight, and we will give you naked pictures for you to see!" Courfeyrac sings and Grantaire facepalms.

He has heard the line a thousand times and it can still make him wince. _Why_ did anyone think this was a good idea, _why_ was this ever approved? How in Hell is Europe even allowed to be a continent anymore and to take care of little countries?

But he has no time to worry about the state of the European continent as the song has finally has reached its chorus and Grantaire has no choice but to join in with all his friends, singing, "When the beating of your heart, echoes the shaking of our bums, there are pants about to start, unless your phone call comes."

Poor Feuilly is the one who has to keep on singing, "Will you give all you can give so that our boxers may be gone? Some will stay and some will leave, will you stand up and take our pants?" he asks, looking deeply pained, before shouting passionately, "The clothes of the martyrs will colour the meadows of France!"

And that's when Enjolras grasps Grantaire's hand and drags him to the center of the stage, kissing him firmly on the lips, while everyone else sings the chorus one more time and red and blue and white confetti (with Courfeyrac's phone number written on it) falls all around them. Grantaire has to admit it is a very nice kiss - long and passionate and Enjolras has his hand buried in Grantaire's hair _just so_ and, all things considered, it is way too dirty for international television, but Grantaire is the opposite of concerned about it and when the song is over, Courfeyrac has to clear his throat pointedly for them to break apart.

"I applaud your dedication to the cause," Combeferre remarks amusedly, as they move to exit the stage.

"They still won't vote for us, you know?" Grantaire says, and turns to face Enjolras, "Europe doesn't like France. I blame our national football team. I suggest we have sex and forget all about it."

"Grantaire - " Enjolras says.

"Come on, Enjolras," Grantaire says - sings, really - into his ear. "Sleep with me to votes gone by. Can it be they'll make you cry? Will Europe remember you when they call? Could it be your pants means nothing at all? Is your ass just one more lie?"

"You are the worst boyfriend _ever_," Enjolras complains loudly and goes off to scare the competition.


End file.
